Macabre Reality
by Chibizoo
Summary: In ancient biblical references, seven sins were created. Their universality was pain. A ficlet exploring pain through the eyes of selected characters.


Author's notes:  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-gi-oh. I _would_ like to own Yuugi though…  
  
Son Taishin challenged me to write this fic on the seven sins (Lust, Power, Pride, Gluttony,  
Sloth, Vanity, Greed). I can't guarantee that it came out the way she wanted it though ;P  
  
On a completely different note, I am hosting a fanfiction contest for all Yu-gi-oh writers   
on ff.net! Please check my bio for more info!  
  
*********************************************  
  
"I'd like to help you out. Which way did you come in?"  
-anonymous  
  
*********************************************  
  
Macabre Reality  
He leaned backwards on the reclining chair. The doctor had turned off the light   
now; only a small shaft of weakened white slid out from between the window shutters.   
Everything else was bathed in a tone of cool blue-grey.   
  
"I'm going to count to ten." The doctor advanced towards his patient, clipboard of   
paper resting on one arm while his other hand balanced a single pencil. "Try your best to   
relax okay?"  
  
The patient nodded. Upon realizing that the doctor was looking elsewhere, the   
patient cleared his throat and voiced a barely audible "Yes." He nervously brushed a   
strand of his golden bangs behind his ear. Some of his jagged red-black hair tickled his   
face as he rested his head on the overly large armchair.   
  
"Very well." the doctor concluded. "I'm going to start counting now."  
  
The patient half-closed his eyes and waited.   
  
"One. You are getting sleepy.  
  
Two. Your eyelids feel very heavy."  
  
*******************************************  
  
He heaved in broken sobs, grimy hands pressed against his tear-stained face.   
  
His shadow looked up at him. It was a beautiful shadow, complete with darkness   
and enigma.   
  
Still crying, he did not notice his shadow until it slid beside him and embraced   
him. He involuntarily shuddered as his shadow pressed icy-cold hands onto his tanned   
skin. One of his shadow's fingers fiddled with a lock of his creamy-blonde hair.   
  
The only warmth came from this darkness's lips, pressed possessively against his   
tear and grime covered cheek. He felt something rough brush against his skin.   
  
At last he found the words to speak. He dared himself to look into his shadow's   
smoky violet eyes. "A-are you real?"  
  
By now, his shadow had finished licking the last of his tears. The dark, beautiful,   
enigmatic entity stared back, face expressionless.  
  
"More real than you." the shadow grinned.   
  
******************************************  
  
"Three. Your eyes are closed and relaxed.  
  
Four. Your arms and head feel so tired and you feel like just lying on the soft,  
comfortable bed."  
  
********************************************  
  
He was strong and powerful and dangerous.   
  
Alone he stood in the darkness. Only the faint glitter of light crowned his pure   
white hair. His deep ruby-hazel eyes were narrowed in thought as one of his hands   
fiddled with the Millennium Ring around his neck.   
  
"Help me."  
  
The room's single occupant looked around in surprise. His placid pale-skinned   
face broke into a frown.   
  
"Help me." the voice repeated itself.   
  
The door was still locked shut and the window-blinds open. His eyes lolled   
dangerously to either sides of him, searching vainly for the intrusive voice. His lips   
pressed into a scowl.   
  
"It's so cold." the voice whispered. It paused. "P-please help me."   
  
He ignored the fact that the voice was now sobbing. He ignored it and continued   
to search within his single room of darkness only.   
  
"I-I'm scared. I'm so scared and cold."  
  
Frustrated, he rammed his arm against the wall. It made no sound as it hit the   
dark-covered barrier.   
  
"Please. I'm lonely. Help me."  
  
"Shut up!" he couldn't take it any longer. He gave a snarl of rage and balled both   
his hands into fists, muscles taut. "Shut up, shut up, shut the hell up!"  
  
He ignored his reflection looking at him from the single mirror on the wall. He   
ignored the reflection crying helplessly back.   
  
****************************************  
  
"Five. All the feeling is being drained from your body. You feel so numb and tired."  
  
****************************************  
  
Revelation finally came. "I am so screwed." The tone was brutal and matter-of-  
factly rather than remorseful, but it only fit his character. "I am officially screwed for   
life."   
A trembling hand ran along his mussed up chestnut hair, picking up beads of cold   
sweat. He absentmindedly fidgeted with his shirt collar, violently-shaking fingers   
attempting to do up the top three buttons. They gave up on the second button.   
  
She watched him look up at the ceiling and vainly blink back tears. Still she said   
nothing.   
  
"Don't tell anyone."   
  
She seemed more amused than anything else. "I never knew you cared." Her   
ebony hair shimmered dully under the artificial lighting.  
  
The door creaked loudly, startling both people. A third figure stood by the   
doorway, large eyes wide with fear and dismay.   
  
He stared guiltily at the third occupant like a deer caught in the headlights. It   
took a few moments before he managed to squeak out a weak protest.   
  
"Mokuba?"  
  
*******************************************  
  
"Six. Every part of you feels so tired and peaceful. Your breathing is slow and deep and   
there is nothing clouding your mind. Your mind is clear and all you desire is sleep."  
  
******************************************  
  
Everyone hated him.   
  
It was not some pessimistic statement or self-depreciating backtalk. It was the   
simple truth.   
  
He was simply the person to hate. His character lived to ultimately be despised.   
  
And so he painted away at his canvas, making sure the thick oil paints did not   
smear his hands or smock. They were especially painful to wash off.   
  
Still, Cyndia had been a good excuse. A pity she wasn't really dead. People who   
did not exist in the first place simply could not die. Cyndia had been one of his more   
ingenious plans, back when it mattered who cared about him and when he had desired   
some sympathy.   
  
He had decided that paintings were prettier than peoples' compliments. It did not   
really matter what others thought as long as he was happy.   
  
Which he was by all means.   
  
It was fun to have people hating him. Bonus points if they thought they could hurt   
him.   
  
***************************************  
  
"Seven. You envision a calm, still lake with soft green trees. There is a gentle breeze that   
blows warmly against your face.  
  
Eight. You just want to admire the turquoise lake waters and listen to the whistle of the   
breeze. It is telling you to relax."  
  
*****************************************  
  
He heaved a ragged sigh of relief as the door slammed shut. For a few seconds, he   
just stood there, a solitary soldier among his naked army of glass and shattered porcelain.   
He could feel blood sliding down one leg, some of it collecting onto his faded jean pants.   
  
Long blonde hair covered his chocolate brown eyes. The best way to block the   
pain was to ignore it. To pretend that it didn't exist as plain as the blemishes decorating   
his skin that leaked through the patches of his worn shirt.   
  
Now, sheltered inside his nest of broken glass and porcelain, he began to relax.   
The blonde fantasized walking into the bathroom and turning on the lights. He would   
fumble with the sink handle and wait for the murky water to clear some before rubbing   
the cool liquid against his face. His hands would move vigorously to tear off the grit   
collected on his skin. All the dried blood and flakes of dirt would mix with the water and   
disappear down the drain.   
  
A drunken belch erupted from outside the door and he involuntarily winced,   
snapping out from his reverie. Just a moment ago, that very same voice had been so   
vehement with rage and destructive stupor. It was hard not to fear a voice like that.  
  
The washroom was down the hall. Their small apartment allotted room for only   
one.   
  
He stood there and stood there and stood there. The seconds passed away.   
  
*********************************************  
  
"Nine. Now you are at the beginnings of sleep. You feel warm and cozy. Nothing can   
interrupt your sleep now."  
  
**********************************************  
  
Everything about her was wrong.   
  
"I hate you." she whispered the mirror facing her. Mascara-infested eyes and full   
ruby lips stared back. A strand of honey-golden hair threatened to penetrate her perfect   
reflection.   
  
Oh God was she ever ugly. A sneer worked on her fair lips and they drew to their   
full haughty extent before trembling and breaking into a choked whimper. Her   
surroundings began to reel uncontrollably, and she involuntarily grabbed the bathroom   
counter to maintain whatever balance she still had left. The sink was cold to the touch   
and bit against her soft skin.   
  
The door suddenly swung open, followed by a pair of footsteps gradually   
increasing in volume.  
  
She looked up and came face to face with the most beautiful girl she had ever   
seen.   
  
The girl stared back complete with bright cerulean eyes and cropped brown hair   
that swayed just slightly at her shoulders.   
  
The original occupant of the ladies washroom stared at this beautiful girl who   
smiled and spouted gibberish at her. She stared at this beautiful girl until her arms   
collapsed and dropped her face against the hard porcelain sink.   
  
She retched.   
  
********************************************  
  
"Ten. Your mind feels completely at rest. Now, all that is there is darkness. You   
want to rest and let the darkness claim you."  
  
*******************************************  
  
"We can change." the Darkness had said it with so much promise. He was the   
Game King, after all. "We can revolutionize the world."  
  
The child believed him. Trust was made that way.   
  
Something magical should have happened then. It always happened in fantastical   
events; in faerie's tales where the protagonist won and lived happily ever after.   
  
The Darkness finally spoke.   
"I love you." It was so naked and honest that it seemed awkward.   
  
The child opened his mouth. And closed it. He did this three times before he   
realized that he could not reply.   
  
********************************************  
  
The doctor said nothing for the longest time.  
  
The patient fidgeted nervously, listening only to the scraping of pencil against   
paper in rough, syncopated rhythms. The Millennium Puzzle dug heavily against his   
chest.   
  
At last the doctor stopped writing. The professional pulled his official-looking   
white robes together and adjusted his reading glasses.   
  
"Yuugi Mutou." The doctor looked at his paper to re-confirm the name. He then   
looked up at his patient. "May I introduce you to the Bible?"  
  
*************************************************  
  
End notes:  
  
Yes, this pointless ficlet has a theme. "Life is not a sudden pain but the gradual tearing   
apart of things. Reality hurts. Don't rely on others but yourself to change it."  
  
…Thus the entire false concept with the Bible ^^;;  
  
Eevee muse: Maybe you should use the theme to get off your miserable butt   
and actually continue your fics.   
  
Zoo: -_-;; Thanks for the vote of optimism there... 


End file.
